


Broken Glass

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-23
Updated: 1999-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:24:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek goes with the wrong pick-up and finds how sharp he is when broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Glass

The music throbbed through him, but Krycek didn't move to it. The body behind him deliberately ground against him for the second time, and without turning around, Krycek reached back and groped the guy. He liked what he felt, and he ground his palm against the bulge. Long, thick...this would be good.

"Dance with me," the man ordered and pressed a shot in his hand.

Krycek downed it. "If I say no?" he asked.

"Now."

Krycek shuddered, but he pushed the man away, letting the stranger feel the false arm. The man ran his hand down it. He realized what he was feeling and pulled Krycek closer. "Now," the man repeated.

Krycek had been drinking heavily all night, but it wasn't until he was on the dance floor and the man grabbed onto his belt loops that he felt the first effects of the alcohol. The man's breath was hot and sticky against his neck, as Krycek ground against him. The dance floor started to spin, and Krycek let the hands pinning him to the body in front of him keep him grounded to the sensation. Colours, faces and the music blended together, and for the first time since he was in high school, he started to feel sick.

"You got a place?" he asked, more to get off the dance floor than to go home with the guy. The guy wasn't anything special to look at, dirty brown hair and a narrow nose, but the gifts in his basket were impressive enough to overlook the obvious.

"I got a place," the man said. The hand on his waist slipped inside his jeans. Krycek tensed as a finger slipped against his ass. There wasn't much room in his jeans, and it took a moment of struggling for the man to force his finger inside Krycek's asshole.

Krycek tensed, flush creeping up his neck, but he didn't stop him. The man began finger fucking him seriously, and his leather jacket didn't hide what he was doing. Krycek spread his legs slightly, giving him better access. They walked out like that.

The cab ride was short. Away from the gyrating bodies and the stifling heat of the dance floor, Krycek found that the thick night air almost cool. The man forced a second finger inside him, and he had to push himself off the seat to make it easier. Krycek parted his legs, leaning back against the back of the car. The cabbie glanced at him in the review mirror, and Krycek stared blankly back at him. The cold, dry air from the air conditioner blasted his neck.

"Here," the man said, and Krycek realized he didn't even know the man's name. The man glanced at him, and Krycek reached for his wallet. The man took it from him, took the money out, and shoved the wallet back into Krycek's jacket. "Out," he ordered.

Krycek scrambled for the door. The two fingers that stretched his unprepared ass hurt, but he was drunk, so he didn't mind.

The man frog-marched him to an abandoned pier, with, ironically enough, 'Alex' spray painted on the wall. "What's your name?" he suddenly remembered to ask.

"Mike."

"Nice to meet you, Mike," Krycek said. He knew that that wasn't the proper thing to say to a man with fingers up his ass, but he didn't know what else to say. He shook his head, trying to clear the spiderwebs from it. His mouth was dry and broken glass crunched under his feet. He suddenly worried about going down on the guy; these were his favourite jeans.

"Nice to meet you, Alex," the man said.

He was so drunk that he didn't even realize that the man called his name until he felt the prick in his neck. He fell forward, and the man pulled his hands free. The broken glass cut into him, and he wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

He came to in what he presumed was the interior of the barge he had seen. The constant rocking back and forth further upset his upset stomach. He opened his eyes, seeing the bars before anything. Fuck. He would have liked to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but realized he couldn't if he didn't want to vomit on himself. He rolled over and crawled to the chamber pot he'd spied in the corner. He vomited up half- digested bar food, sour beer, and whatever the hell was in that last shot. He remained on his hands and knees shuddering until his stomach quieted down.

"You stink," Mike said. He wasn't alone. A big man stood behind him, arms crossed. The shadows hid his face, and Krycek looked away disinterestedly.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Funny, that's what I thought I was here for."

"Where is he?"

"Where is who?" Krycek asked.

"The smoking man."

Krycek laughed, wiping his mouth. "Damned if I know," he said. He stood up and made it shakily to his feet. He stumbled back to his cot and collapsed. "Is that it? Can I go?"

"I was afraid of that," Mike said. He unlocked the door.

Krycek sat up as the big man entered the cell. "Afraid of what? I'm telling you, I don't know where he is. He got shot. He didn't stay dead. That's it."

"Alex, you disappoint me. Hold him, please."

The big man's arms were around him, pulling him off the cot. Krycek lashed out, but between the residual drugs in his blood and the man's sheer size, he stayed pretty much in place.

The beating was short and professionally done. In another situation, he would have enjoyed Mike as a colleague. They left him bleeding on the floor, his knees drawn defensively up to his body. Clinging to consciousness, he heard the door shut just before he passed out. It was safer that way.

A rough, damp cloth passed over his face. Krycek turned away like a child to avoid it.

"You're awake then. I thought we had hit you harder than we intended," Mike said.

Krycek closed his eyes again. "Just working through the last of the drunk."

"You ready to go again?"

Krycek shook his head.

Mike sighed. "You do realize you have no choice, don't you?"

"I'm a professional," Krycek said and sighed. "These things happen."

"Would it help if I told you I really don't want to do this?"

"Would it help if I told you I really don't know where he is?"

"We both make rotten liars, don't we?" Mike asked. He wiped the damp cloth across Krycek's forehead one more time and stood up.

"I think you bruised a kidney last time. If you aren't planning to kill me, could you leave it alone?" Krycek asked.

"I understand," Mike said, and stood up.

A heartbeat later, Mike ripped off his jacket. Krycek fought, more out of surprise, but Mike stepped on his back and pulled his T-shirt off. It finally tore free, leaving him half-naked in the cold barge. Krycek fought, but froze as Mike's foot came down hard over his bare neck. "I'll make a bruised kidney seem like the least of your problems," he promised.

Krycek tried pushing up, but it would snap his neck if he tried too hard. "What do you want from me, you fucker? I'm telling you I don't know!"

"And I'm telling you I still don't believe you," Mike said. Krycek heard the snap of handcuffs, and Mike wrestled with his wrist, pulling it over his head. "I'm doing this. If I have to break your neck first, I will."

Krycek fought him for another heartbeat, and then acquiesced to it. Mike dragged him to the bars and linked the cuffs over his head and through the horizontal bar, which was three feet off the wall. Krycek tugged back on it, but the bars were welded to the metal floor, and the cuffs were solid enough. He had to kneel and face the bars, and he looked out between them, choosing to focus outward rather than pay attention to Mike behind him, pulling off his belt. There was a staircase in the dim shadows. Escape. He only had to work out a few minor details...the cuffs, the bars, and the psychotic person behind him.

"Last chance," Mike said.

Krycek shook his head. "I don't know," he said.

Mike ruffled Krycek's hair before taking off his belt. The height of the bar was awkward. He stayed on his knees, but as the first blow hit him, he threw himself against the bars to escape it. His skin ripped, and the melting heat of his blood ran down his chilled flesh. The bastard used his buckle. Krycek pressed his forehead against the cold bar, and tried to find his breath.

"You didn't think we were going to play with this did you?" Mike asked.

"I had hoped," Krycek gritted out.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know!"

The second blow opened up a cut on the diagonal from the first. He banged his head again, hitting his nose enough that he tasted blood in the back of his throat.

"Last chance, Alex. I'm not going to keep with the foreplay for too much longer."

He briefly considered just coming up with a place, but they wouldn't be pleased when they found out he lied to save his hide. Krycek raised up so he could grip onto the bar and waited. The metal tore at his back, blood soaked into his jeans, and only the pain kept him from hyperventilating. His screams echoed in the hull, but he doubted anyone could hear him. He wasn't expecting anyone, anyway. He had been sloppy. He let a stranger pick him up, he let the other guy chose the place and was too drunk to realize the danger...everything was wrong. He was just paying the price.

Eventually, his mind came out of its protective shell to realize that the blows had stopped. He took a heartbeat to categorize the aches and noticed Mike stroking his hair. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked.

Krycek shook his head, still shuddering. He noticed with disinterest that the man was stroking himself through his jeans. "I feel your teeth, Alex, and I'll dislocate your jaw, do you understand?" he asked, softly, and unzipped himself.

Krycek nodded. The hard cock pushed past his lips, but he was in too much pain to coordinate sucking and breathing. Mike didn't seem to mind; if anything, Krycek's choking gasps seemed to turn him on.

When Mike left, Krycek spit out the cum, bringing with it the blood from the bite on the inside of his cheek. He slumped down and let the chain pull on his arm so he could draw his knees up, ignoring the fact that moving caused barely formed scabs to tear and bleed.

Mike left him there until his arms had gone from aching to cold and numb. He heard steps above, him and he lifted his head to watch Mike come down the stairs. The man carried a bucket, and it splashed onto the floor as Mike stopped outside the cell. "Thirsty?" he asked, conversationally.

Krycek blinked. He watched Mike unlock the door, and stopped just before the spot of dried bloody cum on the floor. "You don't swallow, Krycek?"

"Not on the first date," Krycek said.

"It's our second date now, Alex."

"My mistake," Krycek said. He glanced to the bucket. "Salt water?"

"Not yet," Mike said and dumped it over him. It was fresh water, but it was cold. The sudden shock to his system woke his numbed arms, and he struggled to his knees. Mike took the cloth he had used the day before and wiped off most of the blood, which hurt like hell against the scabs.

Krycek winced as Mike unlocked his handcuffs. The pain wasn't instant, but when it came, it was like being bitten by a hundred thousand wasps at the same time. He groaned and rocked forward, which made his back bleed even more. Mike tightened his grip on Krycek's hair, and he froze.

"Stand up," Mike said gently.

It took him two tries. Without being told, Krycek undid his jeans. They were wet so they didn't fall very well, but he lacked the coordination to step out of them. Mike helped him and then led him to the cot. "Second date," Mike reminded him. "I expect more."

Krycek nodded, but balked a step away from the bed. "Don't...hurt me," he whispered.

Mike stroked his thigh. "Where is he?" he whispered.

"I don't know any more today than I did yesterday."

"I'm sorry, Alex. You leave me no choice."

Krycek nodded and knelt down on the bed. He had expected Mike to rape him. He braced himself for it. It wouldn't be the first time, and there were ways to make it easier. Relaxation, breathing, distancing the pain; he could do them all. Mike left him, and Krycek practiced breathing. In. Out. He could get through this.

The calm lasted until he heard the rat-tat-tat of a broom handle against the floor. Krycek panicked. He tried bolting, but there was nowhere to go. He fought, but Mike brought the broomstick down heavily over his beaten shoulders. The pain of a dozen scabs ripping open dropped him to the floor, and Mike's heavy foot moved over his neck. "That was stupid, Alex," Mike said, and poked Krycek's ass. "This help your memory?"

The stab of pain was almost enough for him to black-out. The handle entered him, tearing him open, but it only pushed in a couple of inches. Any more and his colon was in serious danger. "All right!" Krycek cried. He wasn't going to let Mike shred his ass like he had done his back. "All right," he repeated, letting his head sink down to his arms. "Enough."

Mike twisted the handle inside him, once. Krycek cried out again and then sobbed with relief once the broom was pulled from him. "Where is he?" Mike demanded. His face was red, angry and almost swollen. "Fuck with me, Krycek, and I'll--"

Krycek held out his hand as he tried to look as pitiful as he could. Mike's change was instantaneous. "That's right, poor boy. You've been through hell. Tell me what we want to know, and you can go."

Krycek nodded. Mike helped him up, and Krycek limped to the bed. Mike sat down next to him. Krycek lay back and made sure he didn't hit his head on the bars. His back on the rough blanket hurt like hell, but he made the move look natural. A few more moments of pain and it would be over. He was still breathing hard, but didn't panic as Mike moved over him, hovering like a lover. "We're all made of glass. Eventually, we'll all break," Mike whispered, wiping his forehead. "Where is he?"

Krycek reached up and touched Mike's cheek. "Quebec," he whispered, trailing his fingers down his neck.

Mike took hold of his wrist, gently. Krycek winced, closing his eyes, and Mike ran his thumb over Krycek's eyebrow. "That didn't hurt, did it?" he asked.

"No, but this will," Krycek said. He grabbed Mike's shirt. Mike tried to catch himself, but Krycek had it lined up too well. Mike's head slammed through the bars, and Krycek pushed. Mike's neck snapped before his body hit the mattress.

There was no fanfare or challenges. The barge was deserted. Krycek, dressed in the corpse's clothing and his own jacket, stumbled into the light. He would need a couple of days to heal, but that could be arranged. Right after a shower.

The thought made him shiver and wrap his jacket closer around himself.


End file.
